One Life Stand
by Felicity Fox
Summary: "The Bill" may have ended, but life at Sun Hill still goes on, and new transfer, Cheryl Landry is stuck slap bang in the middle of it.
1. Baptism by Fire, Part 1

_The Bill is not mine. If it was, it would never have ended. Simple as._

_This takes place before Death Knock_

* * *

**Chapter One****: **_**Baptism by Fire, Part 1**_

Have you ever looked down the barrel of a gun and known you are going to die? Have you even been in a situation where you've seen your life flash past your eyes? That's where I am, right now. Literally staring down the barrel of a gun. I should be focused on the person holding it, trying to read his behaviour, trying to get a sense of what he's going to do next – anything that might save my life.

But I'm not. I'm staring at the gun, and my life is flashing before me. The early years, school, first kiss, college, university, several drunken nights, joining the police force, a few memorable cases... and then we get to the last week and everything slows down. Slows down enough to be able to analyse every wrong move I've made in the last week. The mistakes that, when added together, put me right here.

Staring down the barrel of a gun.

* * *

My first mistake happened before my first shift. The night before.

Have you ever woken up and thought to yourself, _what in god's name did I do last night?_ Or better yet, have you woken up and thought that same question sober? I have.

I don't drink. I guess that's the first thing you should know about me. It's not the most important thing about me, but it's going to help explain how I got into the situation I have, and how my first week at my new job was memorable for a lot of wrong reasons. Don't get me wrong – when I was at uni, I could easily knock back several tequilas before turning to the other drinks. I just didn't like the person I became when I drank. To cut a very long story short, I did the single thing I am most ashamed of. I kissed my best friend's boyfriend. In front of her. So I stopped drinking.

The day before I started work, I moved into my new apartment in London from Manchester. I wasn't supposed to be there for another week. That was why the only belongings I had in the place could fit into a single rucksack. Oh, and my mountain bike, (hence the rucksack. I was not about to navigate a train and then London with a suitcase and a bike). The rest of my things were waiting at my mum's, taking over her usually ordered dining room, waiting for the removal company to collect it the following week. The powers that be had called and asked if it was possible to start a week early – that there was something big going down and the extra set of hands would be needed. I had agreed. _That_ had been the first mistake. Accepting.

So I had packed my things in the bag, gotten to London, found my apartment and then I had had to go straight out and buy a mattress. Aside from the fridge freezer and the oven, there was nothing in the apartment, and I was not about to sleep on the floor. Believe it or not, that was my second mistake. If I hadn't had done that, then maybe I wouldn't have made my fifth mistake.

Seriously, one mistake after another...! Of course, at the time, I thought I was making a sensible choice. Let's be honest – hindsight is a bitch.

Anyway, whilst waiting for the mattress to be delivered, I went out and bought a few essentials. Something smart and practical to wear to work, an iron and an ironing board, some bed sheets, and of course, the most important thing... a few pints of Ben and Jerry's.

Another important, yet useless, fact about me is that I am addicted to ice cream. Chunky Monkey! I celebrate with it, I commiserate with it, and, well, generally live off it. Hence the mountain bike. No really, it does make sense – if I have to keep in shape for the job, and I want to maintain my figure, I'm going to have to burn off all those calories somehow.

My shopping actually amounted to the third mistake. One that I definitely should have realised at the time. Firstly – Ben and Jerry's, no matter how tasty, does not make for a nutritious breakfast. Secondly, buying decent work clothes is a good idea, but if you don't buy a decent pair of shoes, then you're not going to have a brilliant work outfit.

The fourth thing, and defiantly the thing that led to the fifth thing, was agreeing to go out. Even without the power of hindsight, I knew it was a stupid idea. I mean, who goes out the night before their first day at work? Yeah, that idiot is me. My friend, Natalie, called and said she wanted to introduce me to some friends of hers, so I would know a few people in the city. Realistically, I should have waited for a night where I didn't have to be in work the following day. But as I looked around my pitifully empty apartment, I figured going out wasn't such a bad idea.

Thankfully, in the bottom of my bag was my favourite little black dress. You know that one dress a girl can wear and feel absolutely gorgeous in? That was the one I had. And set one of the impractical pair of shoes I had bought with me. Red, huge heels – the 'bang bang' shoes. (Definitely not the pair of shoes I chose to wear to work!)

We ended up in a bar. Me, Natalie, and three of her friends. It was a nice bar, the drinks a little more expensive than what I was used to paying (especially for lemonade), but it was the kind of bar that seemed to want to be a club at the same time, with plenty of loud music. I think the thing that surprised me the most, was that the girls were content to stay in the same place, rather than hop from bar to bar (although I did find out later on that one of the girls worked there and they could get a discount on the rounds).

We had been in there hours. The other four were drinking and I was doing my best to let loose and have fun. After going out and being the only sober one more times than I can count, I'm getting good at acting drunk. However, there's only so much a person can take, and by midnight, and especially with the knowledge I was to be at work at seven, I was getting ready to go – the taxi had already been booked.

And that was when I made mistake number five.

I don't normally do things like this. I mean, I'm not completely unpleasant to look at, so I'm not trying to put myself down or anything, but for some reason, when it comes to men (and unless there's some tequila involved), I clam up, shut down, and run away. Actually, it's quite pathetic, really.

But this guy was _gorgeous_. He was sat in the corner, drinking a pint, and judging from the collection of empty glasses that had yet to be collected from in front of him, he had had a few. He didn't look happy. He actually looked quite miserable. I think that's why I smiled at him. Smiles are supposed to be infectious, but they had little effect on him. He just stared at me. He did look surprised, but he didn't smile.

I went and found Natalie and let her know I was leaving, assuring her that I would text her when I got back safely. As I walked off the dance floor, he was waiting for me. The rest was truthfully, a blur. I mean, I remember everything that happened when we got back to mine (and I tell you, with the skill he had, I'm damn glad I can remember it), but how we ended up there, it's just one big blur. I don't even remember who paid the taxi.

Which brings me back to waking up and asking myself, _what in god's name did you do last night?_

I awoke before the alarm – the light streaming in through the windows. (Curtains were high on the list of priorities to get sorted this week). Then again, it could have been the fact there was someone in my bed with me. I sat up and reached for something to cover me in the chilly morning air. His shirt was the first thing I got my hands on and I quickly pulled it on before I turned to examine my bed partner.

Yup, even in the light of day, and smelling of alcohol, he was still gorgeous. He also looked peaceful, as he lay there, half hanging off the mattress, still completely naked. Reluctantly, I grabbed the covers and pulled them over him. I hog covers, and even though I didn't know him and more importantly, I could have stayed there, staring at him all morning, I didn't want him catching a cold, and I needed a shower.

The shower was quick, and I was done in minutes. Drying my hair took much longer. It's thick and dark, and for some insane reason, I wear it long. I've desperately been trying to grow it so it will cover my breasts when down, but for some reason, I can't get it longer than just above them. I got dressed (realised that I hadn't bought decent shoes and had to resort to my only other pair – the trainers I had travelled down in), and headed back to my bedroom.

He was still asleep.

I wandered into the kitchen, ready to get some breakfast, and had to settle with ice cream. Making sure my work clothes were packed in my work bag, I gave my bike the once over, and then went back to the bedroom. Still asleep. The problem was, I just didn't want to wake him. My mind kept wandering back to that sad expression on his face from the night before and how peaceful it looked now. So I did what any sane, single female, oh, and police officer would do. I left him there.

It's not like there was anything to steal, unless he had a fetish for women's clothing, and he certainly didn't strike me as the type. And if he really wanted a half eaten tub of ice cream, a mattress and a phone charger, then he was welcome to them. It wasn't even like there was a key for him to copy. I just left him a note (along with two pain killers – I was feeling especially nice) telling to make sure he pulled the door locked behind him.

I arrived at the station early. I hate being late and I would rather sit around for a half hour, waiting, than make someone wait for me. After making sure the bike was securely locked in the back, I headed to the reception desk and waited to be escorted to the locker room. I changed out of my clothes into the new work clothes I had bought. The trousers were grey baggy – completely impractical for riding a bike – and there was no way I was going to wear my leggings to work. Finally, after being pointed in the right direction, I made my way to CID.

It was empty, save for one person. So much for needing an extra pair of hands for the case.

"Not quite the welcome you were expecting?" he asked me, looking up at me over his computer.

"I expected a few more people in," I admitted. I walked over to him and offered him my hand. "Cheryl Landry."

"DS Max Carter," he told me, reaching for his beeping phone instead of shaking my hand. He quickly read the text message and looked up at me, smiling. "And now it's time for a little excitement. Informant wants to meet. You're with me."

I couldn't keep the frown from my face. Making mistakes in my personal life, as you may have gathered, I do very easily. My professional life is another matter. I didn't particularly want to get off on the wrong foot with a senior officer, but something told me I shouldn't be going anywhere without talking to the DI.

"He's out," Max told me. He must have caught me looking at the DI's door – Neil Manson. "He's probably with Grace, but he's still out."

"I guess," I muttered at him. He was already walking out in front of me, and I had to move quickly before he disappeared and I got lost. We walked through a maze of corridors, passing by several uniformed officers, but Max was either not in the mood for introductions, or in a rush. I tried to give as many of them as I could bright smiles, but we were gone before I could think.

He stopped at a car and turned to me. "I drive."

That didn't bother me and I slipped into the passenger seat. It wasn't like I knew my way around and the last thing I wanted was to take an embarrassing wrong turn.

He drove us to a small cafe, open for breakfast, and headed straight to the counter, ordering a full English breakfast. I ordered a coffee and followed him to a table in the corner, joining a man sat there. The man looked like he might have been good looking a few years back, but now he fell into that stereotypical category of 'shifty looking', and I wasn't surprised he was the informant we had come to meet.

"Marty," Max greeted him.

"Who's that?" Marty asked him, nodding his head in my direction, anxiously.

"Arm candy, nothing to worry about," Max assured him.

_Arm candy_? Seriously?

Marty eyed me suspiciously, like I was going to pull a gun on him, or something, but nodded. "I have some information."

"I guessed that when you wanted to meet at this dive, so early in the morning," Max quipped.

"What do you know about Fantasy?" Marty asked him, ignoring me.

"Strip club owned by the Wright Brothers. We suspect there's a bit of solicitation going on in there, but we can never get anything," Max replied. "Why, what do you know about it?"

Marty leant over. "Buy a lap dance, and get a bit extra, you know what I mean?" he told him in a hushed voice so I could barely hear what he was saying.

"No, Marty, I don't," Max told him.

Marty stared at me.

I got the message. "I'm going to see how that breakfast is doing," I sighed, leaving the table and heading back to the counter. They took so long I ordered myself another cup of coffee, watching as the discussion continued over Max's breakfast. I was contemplating a third cup – I hadn't had much sleep, after all – when Marty finally left.

Max made his way over to me, rubbing his hands gleefully. "Oh, we have landed a good one," he told me.

* * *

"_So what happened to you last night?"_

"I told you I was leaving, Nat," I pointed out. We had gone back to the station and were heading to the see the DI and let him know what had happened, but on the way in, my phone had rung. Conveniently, Max's had also rung, so I stayed out back, just around the corner from him, staring at the vans, and took the call.

"_Yeah, I know you left, and with that cute guy. Did you two, you know?"_

I couldn't help but laugh. "You can say it, you know. And yes, I did sleep with him."

There was an excited squeal down the phone and I had to move the phone away from my ear. _"So, how was he? Was he any good? Will you be seeing him again?"_

"Oh, it was very good," I admitted, ignoring the fact I could feel my face begin to heat up. I ducked my head, and lowered my voice as I sensed some officers moving about behind me. "But I doubt it's going to happen again."

"_Why not? Wasn't he interested when you woke up?"_

I thought about it and shrugged. I do that a lot – forget that I'm actually on the phone and the other person can't see me. "I don't have a clue, to be honest," I told her. "I kinda left him asleep in my bed and went to work. I doubt he will be there with dinner waiting for me when I get back."

"_Cheryl!" _Natalie shrieked at me. The phone moved away from my ear again. "_You just left him there? Alone?"_

"Yeah," I muttered. "It's not like there's anything there to steal. Unless he wants the mattress?"

"_And what if the mattress isn't there?"_ Natalie demanded. "_Did you at least get his number?"_

I laughed again. "Number? I didn't even get his name."

"Callum Stone."

It was one of those moments where life moves in slow motion. I could feel my mouth dropping open in complete horror as I turned to the person standing just behind me. I have no idea how stupid I looked, gaping at him, but I would hazard a guess that it wasn't very attractive. It was the man from my bed. Of course. Only I could have this luck. My eyes flickered to his shoulders. Sergeant. _Great_. This was getting better. If this was a movie, I would have come out with something completely witty and intelligent. Hell, if I was Natalie, I would have made a better attempt. But no, the best I could manage, before I could help myself… "Oh, crap."

"Nice," he muttered at me, bending over to scoop my phone out of a puddle. I hadn't even realized I had dropped it. He handed it over. "One less thing for you to worry about me stealing."

I was bright red. I could tell – my face felt so hot. I also have really pale skin, so when it goes red, it goes _red_. I was also still gaping up at him as I wished the pavement would open and swallow me whole. Oh hell, I _never_ expected to see him again, much less where I worked.

And that pavement was not opening up.

"Do I get your name?" he asked me, finally.

"Um…" I just stared blankly at him, while he stared back at me. "Cheryl?" I managed, finally.

"Look, about last night," he started, but shut up quickly, seeing something behind me.

I half turned, spotting Max walking up to us, looking like the cat that got the cream. "It is looking good," he told me. He turned to Callum and grinned. "I think you're going to want to hear this." He stopped and looked between the two of us, a frown crossing his features. "Do you two know each other?" he asked us.

"No," we both said, quickly. Maybe a little too quickly. Max eyed us suspiciously, but didn't say anything, instead heading inside. I gave Sergeant Stone a weak smile and followed Max inside.

CID was much busier the second time I went in there, and judging from the quick headcount I did, it looked like the majority of people were in. I didn't get chance to take in my new surroundings properly as I was taken into DI Manson's office.

"Cheryl," he greeted me. "Welcome to Sun Hill."

"Thanks," I told him.

He was frowning slightly. "I was expecting you a few hours ago."

"That was my fault, guv," Max piped up, allowing me to breath a small sigh of relief. "I got a call from an old informant and I thought it would be beneficial for Cheryl to come with me."

Neil nodded, accepting the excuse. "Anything good?" he asked us, looking over my shoulder at Sergeant Stone, who I could sense was standing behind me.

"Oh yes," Max agreed.

* * *

_So, um, yeah. It's my first fanfic - let me know what you think?_


	2. Baptism by Fire, Part 2

**Chapter Two****: **_**Baptism by Fire, Part 2**_

While Max filled the DI and Sgt Stone in on his findings this morning, I was allowed to get comfortable behind my desk and meet the rest of CID. My desk was right by the entrance and directly opposite DI Manson's office. It wasn't the prime of locations, but I could live with it. Or I would have been able to, if it wasn't for the fact I could see the looks Sgt Stone kept sending me whilst I tried to make my desk a little more like mine.

"So you're the newbie," a thoroughly Essex accented voice greeted me. It belonged to blonde haired guy with a cheeky grin – definitely the most welcoming greeting I'd had yet.

"Alas, that title now falls on my shoulders," I agreed, settling back into the chair. It gave a very loud squeak, and I shot bolt upright at the noise, much to the amusement of guy in front of me.

"Yeah, that chair's broken," he admitted. "I wouldn't lean back on it if I were you."

"Only because you broke it, Mickey," a female called over.

Mickey turned around to face her, his hands in the air. "I think you will find Terry had a hand in that one," he told her.

The man I presumed to be Terry, looked over from the other side of the room, clearly trying not to smile. "I think _you_ will find, Mickey, that you managed to break that one all by yourself."

The woman laughed and walked over to me, offering her hand. "Stevie Moss," she informed me. "And don't worry. We do have a new one ordered, but it's not supposed to arrive before the end of the week. We weren't expecting you so soon."

"Don't lean back on the chair," I noted. "Check." I took her hand and shook it. This was certainly the friendly welcome I had hoped for. "Cheryl," I told them. "And I was asked down earlier because of a 'big case' you were working on."

Stevie pulled a face. "Oh, we might have wrapped that one up last night."

I shrugged. "It happens."

"So," Mickey started, perching on the edge of my desk and playing with a stapler which was sat on it. "You know what's going on in there?" he asked, nodding his head at the DI's office.

I glanced around, caught Sgt. Stone staring at me, and then quickly looked back at Mickey. "Something big?" I offered. "I wasn't really privy to the information."

"Sorry about that," Mickey told me.

I pulled a face at him. "Why are you apologizing? I've had a few informants in the past, and I know how untrusting they can be."

"He's not apologizing for the informant," Terry told me.

"Do I want to know?" I asked, warily. I know I shouldn't judge people on other people's opinions, and gossiping probably isn't the best start, but hey, I'm human.

"I'm sure she will find out soon enough," another new voice told me. "Grace Dasari," she smiled, taking the desk opposite. She looked up at Mickey. "Don't you have something to do?" she asked him.

Mickey gave me another cheeky grin and meandered over to his own desk. I turned my attention back to personalising mine. And by personalising, I mean, pulling out a small passport sized photograph and sticking it to the monitor. It was a photograph of a fourteen year old girl called Hayley.

Back at Manchester I worked with the Abusive Images Unit. I was part of the newly established task force developed to combat child pornography. It sounded like such a brilliant thing to start off with, but in the end, I had to get out. I mean, one of the major things I did was trawling chat rooms, and there's only so many conversations a person can have with an 'eleven year old', let me tell you. It got very depressing, to the point that, after spending ten or more hours a day on a computer, I didn't want to come home to one. So I sold my laptop.

Anyway, Hayley was part of the reason I left. She was chatting with a boy in a chat room, only he wasn't a boy. He was a registered sex offender, who met her and abducted her. I spent six months trying to find her, until she was found, dumped on a scrap of land in Barnsley. She had been left for dead, but the girl is a fighter. You'd think that a happy ending wouldn't result in a transfer to the other end of the country, but I'd had enough of this specialist area. Her picture I keep as a reminder.

The door to the DI's room burst open and DI Manson strode out, Max behind him with a handful of papers. I kept my eyes on those two, ignoring the fact that Sgt. Stone was standing behind me. I mean, seriously, could he not see how mortified I was? I think it was clear that neither of us were expecting a lifetime commitment from each other when we'd ended up in bed, and I think it was also clear that my red face meant I didn't want to talk about it. So why wouldn't he just back off and let me die of embarrassment in peace?

"Right, listen up," Max suddenly spoke up. I had been watching him stick mug shots on the wall, but hadn't really been paying attention. "This is Owen and Philip Wright."

"The Wright Brothers?" Mickey, asked, surprised.

Max nodded. "I have it on good authority that they are about to get their hands on 200k of coke and plan on using their little strip club as a cover for dealing."

"Yeah, but they won't let us get anywhere near them," Mickey told him. "We've been breathing down their necks for months on prostitution charges, and they've got their defences up."

"Which is why we're going to use uniform," Neil told him.

I tuned out. I should have listened (another mistake I was racking up at this point), but I could make out Sgt. Stone's outline just to my side again, and I was spending more time focusing on that. It wasn't until Max mentioned my name that I suddenly started paying attention again.

"... Likes her. He's already got Cheryl a job and no one down here recognises her. It's win win."

I blinked. "Doing what?" I blurted out.

"Relax," Max told me. "It's just bar work."

"The main aim isn't to get the girls for dealing, but to find out where the Wright Brothers are getting their drugs from, and when this next shipment is due," Neil added. "We will keep our presence up regarding the prostitution using the officers the club is familiar with, whilst anyone else uniform can spare will be there as customers to offer support."

Great. Life was getting better. Not only had one of my colleagues seen me naked, it seemed that the rest of them were going to witness me wearing very little. I slumped back into the chair, already forgetting Mickey's warning, and found myself continuing to fall backwards into the shelving unit behind me, to the nice accompanying soundtrack of that awful screech. And if everyone wasn't looking at me then, the few books that decided to come crashing down around me, certainly got their attention.

"Kill me now," I said, loud enough for everyone to hear, as I lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

"Cheryl? Are you alright?" I heard Neil call over to me.

I stuck my hand in the air and gave him a thumbs up. "Just waiting for the floor to swallow me up," I called back. A hand appeared in front of my face. Figuring there was nothing else I could do to successfully humiliate myself in front of him, (and boy, was I wrong about that), I took his hand.

As I suspected, everyone was staring at me when I finally found myself upright. "Is there anybody in here who didn't see that?" I asked hopefully. At the lack of response, I sighed and slumped back into the shelves. "Great," I muttered. "Let's see how well I do with pint glasses." Max had continued with his briefing at this point, so the only person who heard me was Sgt. Stone. He didn't look at me, but he did clear his throat in an attempt to stop the laughter.

* * *

"What will it be?" I asked Max.

Marty had arranged the job for me, and Owen was expecting me when I arrived at Fantasy. He'd introduced me to Kandi, who was the person in charge of the girls. She seemed nice enough, but a little suspicious.

"_Why are you in London?" she asked me._

_I sighed. "To see my son."_

_Her expression lightened. "Your son?"_

"_He lives with his father," I lied. "I got into a bit of trouble in Manchester," I told her. "He took custody and moved back here. I followed him down here."_

"_What kind of trouble?" she asked me, the suspicion back._

"_Drugs," I admitted. "But I'm clean now. Six months sober."_

"_And you think you can stay sober?" she asked me._

_I shrugged. "I've got to if I want to be able to see my son. Regular drug testing is part of the requirement."_

After that, she was fine with me. Apparently, she was in a similar situation.

She provided me with my 'uniform'. It was gorgeous, don't get me wrong, but it was underwear. Whereas the strippers all had a character to play, the bar girls all wore a similar outfit. Mine was green. A beaded corset that Kandi had had to lace up at the back for me. The bust area dipped quite low, but was mercifully quite modest, the green barely showing behind the black lace. The central panels were the opposite – the green silk much more visible underneath the thinner lace, before the bottom matched the top, flaring out. It even came with a pair of black shorts, which, although figure hugging (and I was eternally grateful for my mountain biking hobby), were long enough for me not to feel completely uncomfortable. The stockings I wasn't overly bothered with, but the four inch heels? I'm already five-eight. I didn't need to be six foot.

"A bottle of Becks, please love," Max replied.

I wasn't surprised to see him there. Apparently he had given the Wright Brothers a wide berth, so they had no idea who he was. Marty was also trying to give him an 'in' as an extra member of security.

I grabbed the bottle, snapped the top off and placed it in front of him.

"Thanks," Max said. He pulled a note out of his pocket, and then he had the audacity to lean over and stick it in my top. "I knew you'd have a good set of legs on you," he muttered. He stood upright as he was joined by Marty. "Keep the change," he told me, brightly.

I turned my back and stalked over to the till. He could have his change back, and I knew exactly where he could stick it as well.

"Smile," Kandi told me. "You're in a strip club. It's normal for money to be stuck down your top."

"He just gives me the creeps," I muttered.

"You go do some table service for a while," she told me, sympathetically. Or maybe it was that she was up for the extra tips from Max, who remained at the bar.

I'd been here for a week now. And it wasn't too bad, really. Max had been in daily, so even though he wasn't my favourite person in the world, it was nice to see a familiar face. Stevie and another detective, Banksy had been in, but accompanied by two uniformed officers as they did a spot check for under agers.

A week and I was getting nowhere. I hadn't seen a speck of white powder, or mention of anything. The only thing I could confirm was that a few of the stripping girls were doing a little more than stripping in the private rooms upstairs.

According to Max, who was less than pleased with my lack of information, Philip, the brother who was in charge of the drugs side of the business, was away in Liverpool. He'd been there since I started, so it wasn't that I wasn't trying.

I stepped out from behind the bar and walked straight into Philip. Obviously, he was back. Owen had the whole Jason Statham bad boy look about him, where as Philip resembled more of a Josh Hartnett, however, I had already been warned that it was Philip I was to watch out for.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Cheryl," I told him. "I'm sorry, but only staff are allowed back her."

He glared at me for a moment, before smiling. "I own this place. I'm allowed." I stared at him, giving him my best dubious impression. The smile turned into laughter. Suddenly, he grabbed my arm and pulled me out into the club area, leading me to the bar. "Hey, Kandi," he called across the bar.

Kandi hurried over. "Yes, Philip?"

"You hiring new security?" he asked her, his hand still clamped around my arm. I was certain he wouldn't try anything with so many people in the place, but that didn't stop my heart beating a million miles a minute.

"Cheryl?" she asked him.

I tried not to roll my eyes. I may look harmless and defenceless, and whilst I wasn't about to suddenly bust out with some impressive kung fu moves, I could take care of myself.

"She tried to stop me from going in the back," he continued.

"I didn't know who you were," I told him, lying defensively.

He laughed. "And you keep that attitude up," he told me, pulling out his wallet and extracting a crisp fifty pound note from it. Thankfully, he didn't repeat Max's moves but instead, placed it in my hands. He let me go, and wandered over to Max and Marty.

"Looks like you made a good impression," Kandi told me. "Now keep it up. There's a table over there without drinks."

I headed over to the table she was referring to, ready to take their order, but the girl on the pole completely diverted my attention to her. She was doing a move that seemed completely and utterly, physically impossible. It was impressive, don't get me wrong, and I was completely in awe.

Someone clearing their throat drew my attention away from the acrobatics and I glanced down. "Of course," I muttered. It was Sgt. Stone. Who else would it be? He was seated with two other men – I knew they were officers, as I vaguely remembered passing them in the station – but their names had yet to be told to me. It had been a case of, introductions in CID then straight to the bar.

"Cheryl?"

I turned, and found Kandi waiting for me. "I'm just about to take their order," I assured her.

She shook her head. "You made quite the impression on Philip. He wants you to serve his table. I'll take care of these guys," she told me.

I walked away, not looking behind me, feeling exceedingly relieved to have escaped that one. It was the first time any of those three men had entered the club, so I had been doing well at avoiding him, especially as I hadn't been able to get to the station much.

Philip was deep in conversation with Max and Marty when I arrived at their table in the back of the club. I took their order, dropped the drinks off and I was ready to head in the back to restock the ice. Somebody grabbed me and pulled me to one side.

I nearly screamed, but Max quickly hushed me. "What the hell are you doing?" I hissed at him.

"The drugs are coming in tomorrow night," he whispered back at me. "I need you-"

"Look, I'm sorry, but you're not allowed back here," I said loudly.

Max frowned, but then, stoked the side of my face. "I was hoping we could go somewhere a little more private," he told me.

"What's going on here?" Philip asked, appearing behind Max.

Max turned to him and shrugged. "I like your girl. I was hoping we could go somewhere a little more private before we had to disappear."

"What you're implying is illegal," Philip pointed out.

"So are a lot of things that I do," Max retorted.

Philip grinned and looked at me. "Take Mick upstairs," he told me, after ushering Max back into the club.

"I don't understand," I muttered, uncomfortably.

"Mick wants a private showing," he said, as if it was completely normal. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you get paid for it," he added.

"I'm just a bar maid," I pointed out, my voice a little higher in pitch than I wanted it to be.

He pushed me back against the wall, his hands clamped on my shoulders as he leant down to speak into my ear. "Not in this club, you're not. And if you want to keep your job, you'll do as I say," he threatened. He stepped back, straightened his tie, and stared at me, waiting.

You have no idea how much I wanted to tell him to stick his job. I made to move past him, refusing to meet his eye, but he grabbed my arm again. "You should know, we have cameras in there."

I yanked my arm free and stormed back into the club, trying to pull myself together. Kandi must have seen me, because she intercepted me before I could make it to the stairs. "Are you alright?" she asked me.

I nodded.

She looked over my shoulder, spotting Philip, before looking over her own and seeing Max. "He wants you to take him upstairs," she realised, putting two and two together.

"Are there really cameras?" I asked her. A tiny part of me – the police part of me – wanted to know for the sake of evidence. The large part of me wanted to know so that there was no record of this ever taking place.

"There is," she admitted. "But it doesn't record."

"Well why are they in there?" I yelped.

* * *

If I didn't think life could get any more embarrassing, it did. I was upstairs in a room, alone with Max, literally, dancing in his lap. "If you tell anyone about this," I told him. "I will kill you."

"You do realise you're threatening a superior, don't you?" he asked me.

"I honestly don't care," I told him.

"I won't say anything," he promised. "But I don't understand why you're so against doing this, and yet, you don't seem to be stopping."

"Because there's a camera over your shoulder," I told him, through gritted teeth.

"Fine," he nodded. "Just keep on dancing. I'm in with Philips, but he wants me with the money at a separate drop to the coke. I need you to find out where the drugs are going to be. You think you can do that?"

I stepped back and slowly began undoing the ribbon on the corset. "Keep your eyes on mine," I growled at him, very slowly.

"Relax," he told me. "I'm about to walk out of here anyway. It's going to be easier to give you a microphone if you're still wearing clothes and can hide it." He got up, pulled out a few twenties and stuck them down my corset, along with the microphone. "Get that in Philip's office."

He disappeared, and I sank into the seat he had been in, my head sinking into my hands. I was getting in way over my head on this one. Suddenly feeling the need to get some fresh air, I quickly fastened the corset back up and dashed out of the room. The corridor led back into the club, but hurried through it, and out into the back alley, ducking down between the dustbins to catch my breath.

* * *

_Wow! I am surprised at how many of you are actually reading this - thank you so much. I have to admit, this is really the first thing I've ever really written, aside from stuff at school, a zillion years ago, and reports at work so I never really expected anyone to like this. I have ideas to cover the next seven or so chapters, much of it written out during my lunch break and journey to and from work. That being said, if there's anything anyone wants to see, I will certainly consider it - especially if it's ideas for cases! - and I am open to the ideas of certain pairings too. ")_

_PCJAL - While I get used to writing, I will be sticking with it being mainly from Cheryl's POV, mainly because she's mine and I can't really write her wrong. The amount of times I have re-written most of this - I'm not quite confident to get in the heads of other characters. I love that show too! Thank you for your review!_

_RH lover 11 - Yay, i'm glad you like her! Yeah, I know how you feel. It's a Tuesday night and I have nothing to do anymore. "(_

_133 - ") Thank you! I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long!_

_DarknessDeadly - I'm glad you like. Watching the best show in the world, and then trying to write the characters is two completely different things!_


	3. Baptism by Fire, Part 3

**Chapter Three: **_**Baptism by Fire, Part 3**_

I wasn't out there long before someone else joined me. I looked up and wished I hadn't.

"Are you alright?" Sgt. Stone asked as he crouched down next to me.

"I'm fine," I told him, shortly, wishing he would just go away.

"Yeah, because you look like it," he retorted.

"I just needed some air," I muttered, getting to my feet.

"You really don't look good," he told me.

"I'm fine," I said, repeating myself, complete with a roll of the eyes.

"Of course you are." He got up himself and stared down at me. "Look, about the other night."

I shook my head and cut him off. "I was drunk," I lied. "My judgment tends to go out the window with alcohol." Definitely not a lie. "And I really do not want to cause any problems." Again, not a lie. "I need to go," I sighed. "Before anyone sees us together."

"Cheryl, wait," he called after me.

I stopped and turned, waiting for him to walk over. "What?"

"Where's your phone?" he asked me.

"What do you need my phone for?" I asked him.

He actually had the nerve to look at me like I'm an idiot. Which, admittedly, I am, but that's not the point. "So I can put my number in it."

"What for?" I asked, the stubbornness sneaking into the question.

He rolled his eyes at me. "So if you need some backup, you can give me a call."

"Oh," I muttered, more mouthing the word than actually speaking it. That made a bit of sense. And then my hands flew to my hips. "And where do you think a phone is going to fit in this outfit?"

"Excuse me," he said, before leaning over and gently tugging one of the notes from out of my top. He quickly jotted his number on it before handing the note back to me. "I'll let you put that back."

I snatched the paper out of his hand and stormed back inside. The rest of the evening was steady, and it wasn't until after closing time that I had the opportunity to get into the offices. Kandi was busy cashing up, and I was busy refilling the bottle fridges.

"Kandi, we need some more Becks," I called over.

She glanced up from the till and frowned. "You know where they are," she told me. "The keys are in the office. Bring them back when you're done."

The route to the cellar passed a corridor that led only to the offices. Nobody seemed to be around, so I darted down there. I knocked on the door and was relieved when no one was around. The keys were on the desk on top of a delivery order for some more Budweiser's to arrive the following evening. I didn't think twice as I scooped the keys up, and checking there was no one around, I pulled the microphone out of my top, flicking it on. The question was where to put it.

I settled on sticking it behind the filing cabinet. "I hope you can hear this," I said aloud. There was no response coming, so I left the office, heading down into the cellar. I grabbed a crate of Becks and was making my way upstairs when something caught my attention. There were at least half a dozen boxes of Budweiser in that cellar.

I frowned, settling the beer on the ground. Had I misread the delivery order? I headed back to the office and reread the paper. "So," I said aloud. "This might be nothing, but the club is apparently expecting a delivery tomorrow for Budweiser at seven o'clock. Only, the cellar is full of the stuff, and how many breweries actually deliver after five?"

I hoped that message had been understood and decided to carry on with my job – I was shattered and I wanted to collapse on that mattress of mine. I headed for the door, opened it, spotted Philip walking down the corridor, texting on his phone, and panicked.

There was nowhere to hide in the room at all. I did the first thing that came to mind, and started pacing back and forth.

The door open and Philip stepped through, stopping when he spotted me. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"You said I'd get paid for entertaining Mick," I blurted out. Come on – it was the best I could come up with.

"Hmmm," he mused. "I did, didn't I?" He walked behind his desk and sat down, turning his monitor on. "Shall we see how much you're worth?"

I felt sick as watched myself on his computer. Kandi had said that it wasn't actually recorded and I had believed her. Thankfully, Philip turned it off long before Max had left the room. He smiled and handed over a handful of fifties. "Maybe we should have you on the stage."

"No thank you," I muttered, quickly getting up. I dashed out the door and finished up my shift, grateful to leave the place.

* * *

It was the early hours of the morning when the taxi pulled up outside the station, and I was exhausted.

"Chezza," Mickey greeted me cheerfully.

"Only you could be this cheerful, this early," I grumbled at him.

"How are things going?" he asked me.

I yawned at him. "I want my bed?" I offered. "And a foot massage. A ten hour shift in four inch heels is a killer."

He laughed, allowing me to pass him and lead the way to the briefing room. I slunk in the back and sank to the floor, my knees cracking as I slid down the wall.

"You alright there?" Neil asked me.

"I tell you what, guv," I called back. "You deliver this briefing in heels and I will stand." It was one of those moments where I spoke first, thought after, and thought that he was going to chew me a new one. Judging from the look everybody else in the room was giving me, they all thought so too.

Miraculously, he laughed. "Thanks to Cheryl and Max we have some good leads for tomorrow. At six thirty, Max will be with Philip Wright here." He pointed to a spot on the map, somewhere near the docks, but I couldn't really see it easily from my position on the floor. "They are meeting with Alan Larkin with the money."

"They're doing it separately?" Stevie asked, sounding surprised.

Max nodded. "Philip wants to establish trust with Larkin. Also, without the drugs and the money in the same place there is a lower risk factor."

"As soon as Larkin counts the money, he will call Craig Lowe, his partner, who will deliver the coke directly to Fantasy at seven o'clock sharp, where Owen Wright will take control of the delivery and confirm its worth to Philip," Neil continued.

"That's a bit ballsy, isn't it?" Stone asked.

I hadn't even realized he was in the room.

"I mean, I know it's going to be seven," Stone added. "But it's August. It's not exactly using the cover of daylight."

Max nodded. "Cheryl found some delivery papers. We've checked the records and their normal supplier isn't due to deliver anything until after the weekend. They're using a brewery delivery as a cover, so the drugs are also likely to come packed away in Budweiser crates."

"They're boxes," I corrected him.

"You what?" he asked me.

I shrugged. "Budweiser comes in a box, not a crate. Completely covered. Unless you open the box, there is no way you can tell it's not got bottles in there."

"That's really clever," Stevie muttered, impressed.

"So, we are going to be waiting here," Neil pointed to the map again. "With CO19, and a second team will be waiting by Fantasy, again with CO19, ready to move as soon as Max and Cheryl give the word."

I really need to learn to pay a little more attention sometimes. "What?" I blurted out.

"We're going to need you to give us the go," Max told me.

"How am I going to do that?" I asked him.

"We'll wire you up."

"Oh yeah! Great idea," I told him, too tired to reign in the sarcasm.

Max glared at me. "And what would the problem be?"

"Well that's obvious, isn't it?" Stone asked him.

Max shook his head. "Enlighten me."

"Where the hell is she going to put the wire? We can't even give her a mobile phone with that outfit."

Of course. Well I had nothing to say to that, because he made the point I was going to.

"Well we will have to give you another radio microphone," he said shrugging his shoulders.

"And where do you expect that to go?" I asked wearily. Max just looked at me. "Yay," I sighed, unenthusiastically.

* * *

I was back in that strip club all too soon. I was still tired when I awoke, but because my belongings had been delivered and I need to be up for the delivery, I was definitely still tired when I got to work. The good news was that there was only an hour to go and then I could get a much needed, early night.

The club was also quite quiet. It probably would pick up later, if it hadn't been shut down by then. Stone was in, along with the same to people he had been in with last time. I'd finally learnt they were Smithy and Leon. Yup, parading around in front of the Inspector in my underwear. If I didn't die of embarrassment, I was certainly going to have to have a week off to recover.

I delivered them three very weak lager shandies, which they barely touched and made my way back to the bar. Just as the bouncers threw out an exceptionally drunk man, I managed to get in the way of a flying pint of Guinness.

Screw this – I was having two weeks off.

And then another thought crossed my mind. The microphone. I dashed into the changing rooms and pulled it out from my top. The little red LED was no longer glowing. I threw it in the bin. And there was another mistake.

I didn't think twice about it being there as I went back to the bar, and Smithy was already there, waiting for me. "You got a couple of bags of crisps?" he asked.

"The mic is screwed," I told him, handing some packets over.

"Are _you_ alright?" he asked me.

I nodded. "_I'm_ fine," I told him.

"Look, we're in here," he reassured me. "I'll get Nate and Kirsty to let us know when a delivery truck heads around back and I'll come and let you know. You're just going to have to get back to us in here and we'll send the word to move in." He looked at me and cocked his head, ever so slightly. "You think you can handle it?"

I nodded again, handing back his change. I should have shaken my head. I felt sick to my stomach.

He was back forty minutes later, ordering another round of drinks. "I won't be a minute," I told him, pretending to struggle with the till. "Kandi, will you grab these for me?"

She gave me a funny look, but took over serving Smithy. Meanwhile, I disappeared into the back, creeping along to the cellar. The boxes were already being unloaded, by several men – half of whom I recognized as associates of Philip's. On the side was an opened box, a cellophane wrapped white brick cut open to reveal the white powder inside.

Bingo! I moved back upstairs, ready to dart back into the bar and to safety, but I went careering right into Kandi. And right behind her was Owen, a gun already emerging from his waistband.

"Get in my office!" he bellowed at us over the sound of the music coming from the club.

I swallowed, moving slowly into his office. "Owen, put the gun away," I told him, clearly.

"What were you doing in the cellar?" he asked me, barely paying attention to Kandi.

I however, was paying attention to her. She was terrified, and I could actually see her shaking as she stared at that gun, and she was staring at the door, planning to bolt for it. "I was changing the Fosters," I told him.

"It has nothing to do with this?" he asked, holding the radio mic I had thrown away in front of him.

"What is that?" I asked, dumbly.

"You want to play it like that?" he asked. He sniffed, turned, and shot Kandi. "Fine."

I screamed. I couldn't help it. I screamed and I dropped down in front of the desk, cowering in fright.

And that was how I found myself staring at the gun, watching my life fly before me, analyzing every mistake I made over the last week. I knew I was going to die. And then, it was like all the fear suddenly evaporated from me. I stood up, calmly. I sat on the desk, stared at Owen, and then did something even more insane than anything else I have ever done. I laughed at him.

"What's so funny?" he demanded.

"You," I told him. "You have the opportunity, right now, to save your own life."

"What do you mean?" he asked me, taking a step closer, but never taking his gun off me.

"I'm a police officer," I told him. "We've got you on so many drugs charges alone, you're going to be locked up for a long time, add murder to the mix and you're never seeing daylight."

"Add your murder to the mix," he shot back at me. "Problem solved."

"Please," I laughed. "Killing me will be the _start_ of your problems."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And how do you figure that?"

"You've heard of Chris Landry, right?" I asked him. "Big on gun trafficking in Manchester."

He nodded.

"That would be my brother," I told him, before laughing again.

"You're lying," he retorted.

I was. There is, in fact a Chris Landry in Manchester, who has been on the police radar for years. I also happen to have a brother called Chris. But they're not the same person. I shrugged. "Check my ID," I told him, nodding at the filing cabinet that contained the employee details. "Check the name on my next of kin." I grinned at him. "Wow, I wouldn't want be the one to inform him his sister had been killed," I told him, shaking my head sympathetically.

Owen moved over to the filing cabinet, keeping his eye on me. "Get it," he ordered.

I shrugged and moved over, pulling the drawer open and pulling out my details.

"Chris Landry," he read.

That second he took his eyes off me and onto the paper was all I needed. While he had been moving towards the filing cabinet, I had spotted the small camera being poked under the door. "NOW!" I yelled, diving to the ground, covering my head and praying for the best.

The door burst open and the room was suddenly full of armed officers, shouting and yelling.

* * *

I stood in the women's locked room, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I'd managed to put on a brave face, gotten to the station and safely into the bathrooms before throwing up. I had at least spared myself the embarrassment of doing that in front of other people. Now, I still looked peaky, but the shakes had stopped and I was feeling like I could face a room full of people – at least long enough to debrief.

As I walked into CID, I realized that everyone else had other ideas. There was a round of applause as I walked in, and I stared back in confusion. What the hell had I done to deserve that? I actually glanced behind me to see if there was someone there who they were actually clapping, but Mickey was already by my side, patting my shoulder.

"Nice result, Chezza," he told me.

"How's Kandi?" I asked him.

"In the hospital," Neil answered for him. "She's in intensive care, but it looks like she's going to be fine."

I sat down into my chair, forgetting about its broken status until it was too late. Only it didn't bend backwards. I opened my eyes, confused.

"Your new one arrived," Stevie announced happily. "Come on, let's get out of here."

And as soon as I had walked in there, I was walking back out. For my first week, I doubted I had been in that room much longer than an hour.

"You coming to the pub?" Mickey asked me.

I shook my head. "My furniture got delivered this morning and I really need to put my bed together."

"Ah, come on," he pleaded, his arm snaking around my shoulders.

"I'm not in the mood," I told him.

"Okay, you're a little strange," he told me, still grinning. "But you should at least come out for one celebratory lemonade," he ordered.

I laughed. I had to. I might not have an infectious smile, but Mickey certainly did. "Fine," I sighed, as melodramatically as possible.

I stayed for two, but in the end, it just felt too busy and I was not in the mood. I figured two was polite and then I slipped out.

* * *

My apartment was chaos. I ignored it all and had myself a long, hot shower and I didn't come out until the water was cold and my fingers wrinkled. I opened a box and slipped into some cotton running shorts and my favourite vest top with a nearly faded slogan on it.

Of course, by the time I was out of the shower, it was also really late. Which meant, if I was putting my bed together, I was doing it manually. Well, I wasn't feeling tired at this point. I think I had gone past that feeling a few hours ago. Now, I just wanted to keep busy. I moved into the bedroom and pushed the mattress up against the wall as I laid the bed frame out.

As I stared at it, I realised it was going to be an interesting task. Ideally, it needed two people. I wandered back into my kitchen and pulled a tub of Chunky Monkey from the freezer, with the intention of contemplating my predicament over ice cream. As I shut the freezer door, the answer stared me back in the face. Using a magnet, I had attached the twenty pound note with Stone's number on.

As quickly as I thought of it, I pushed the idea from my mind. Probably not a good idea. Instead, I dug my spoon into the ice cream and took an enormous mouthful, just as someone knocked at my door.

The clock on my oven said it was nearly one. Frowning, I opened the door and almost choked on my ice cream. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might need a hand putting that bed together," Stone replied. "I saw the light was still on."

"How do you know where I live?" I demanded. As soon as I asked it, I winced and actually smacked my hand against my head.

"So, do you need some help?" he asked me.

"No," I told him. "Yes," I admitted, seconds later and stepped back so he could come in. "Can I offer you some ice cream?" I asked, holding the tub up to him.

"I bought pizza," he told me.

I looked down and low and behold, he had a pizza box in his hands. Great detective I am, eh? I smiled gratefully. It probably won't surprise you that I hadn't done any food shopping, other than the ice cream, so I was extremely thankful for something warm. "Thanks," I muttered. "I guess you know where the bedroom is."

I followed him into the bedroom. "You were going to attempt this by yourself?" he asked me, a little surprised.

I shrugged at him. "Can't sleep. Besides, it's not like there's anyone else around to help. Sometimes it's just easier to get on with things by yourself." My hands found their way to my hips. "You don't really strike me as a person who usually turns up on a girl's doorstep, after hours, bearing pizza to help build a bed. So what gives?"

"Things have a habit of getting around the station. Nothing stays a secret at Sun Hill-"

I cut him off. "I'm not going to say anything. You don't have to bribe me with your DIY skills - you could have just asked."

I wasn't surprised to see that his response was to stare at me. To give him his credit - he's a lot more restained than me. I can usually keep my mouh shut, but he far exceeds my potential. I usually cave and end up saying something stupid. No, he just stood there, stared, and then set the pizza on top of a pile of boxes, reaching for the screwdriver.

I _really_ wish I could read minds.

* * *

_I would have updated sooner, but I ended up re-writing the chapter again, cutting a load of waffle out. Hmmm, I think it reads better than the original... But anyways, thank you for everyone who is still reading!_

_Axellia - I'm glad you like her. I think if I was in her situation, my language would be more colourful too, but I am determined to behave myself!_

_133 - Yeah, I haven't written properly in years, and I only stumbled acoss FF a short while ago. I hope it meets your expectations._

_PCJAL - Undercover stories are certainly fun to write too - I may have to attempt it again later! I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long!_


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